Not Okay
by Emkinz
Summary: "'No, it's NOT okay'" I've been reprimanded for writing this, but they've loved it, apparently? Enjoy the feels. Trust me, I may be sociopathic, but I'm not Sherlock- I cried while writing it. Just a short story, likely won't have any more update but seeing as I can never make up my mind...
1. Chapter 1

Everything had been perfectly fine until that moment. For a split second Sherlock stood in shock, just as he was just seconds previously, before clasping a hand to his chest and collapsing against John.

"NO." John didn't bother to even look for who had done it; the only thing that was important right now was Sherlock. "No, no, Sherlock, no, _please_ no. _Christ_ , Sherlock."

Struggling to hold his friend upright, John fell to his knees on the ground. Tears were already welling up in his eyes as he sat on the floor with Sherlock across his lap.

"It's okay, John, really," Sherlock said, grimacing, between deep breaths in an attempt to console John.

"No, it's NOT okay!" John yelled in frustration that he was helpless, that Sherlock had been right. _There's a time and place for everyone... but here and now?_ A single tear fell onto Sherlock's face as he leaned over him, followed by more.

"Stay with me, Sherlock, stay with me. You're going to be fine, we can- I can fix this."

Despite being in obvious unbearable pain, Sherlock managed to crack a sad smile up at his friend- his one best friend, who had stayed with him the whole time, who loved him even through his lower-than-average social skills, his rather unreasonable antics, his sociopathic tendencies. "I'd like to believe that."

"Sherlock, please- you can't- just don't-" John sobbed, memories from years ago replaying themselves in a devastating and nightmarish cycle: seeing Sherlock's body sprawled on the ground, standing at his grave- it had all been fake.

Sherlock reached a shaking hand up and gently turned John's face towards his so they were looking into each other's eyes. "I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice breaking. "It's not a trick this time."

John drew him into a tight embrace, sobbing over his shoulder and catching his last whispered word.

"Goodbye."

He buried his face in the detective's shoulder, wanting desperately to convey what he really thought of his friend, but being unable to form words. "Just don't- be dead," he finished. Sherlock's arms loosened their grip around him.

John didn't let go.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything had been perfectly fine until that moment.

For a split second Sherlock stood in shock, just as he was just seconds previously, before collapsing against John.

Now, this split second was a split second to John, but Sherlock's mind worked lightning fast. This split second was where John began to realize the horrible truth, and where Sherlock finally faced the horrible truth that he had so carefully prepared his mind for.

Obviously it wasn't ideal, but it was necessary. Sherlock knew who the killer was, and the killer knew that. Sherlock also knew that the killer was so desperate not to be caught that he was going to murder Sherlock if he had to. But, just to keep the detective aware and himself safe, he had a warning system- if Sherlock came too close to informing the police, one by one, as a reminder, his friends -his few friends- would be targeted. This could be avoided only by Sherlock sacrificing himself, instead. Sherlock had thought long and hard about this. If he were to tell, his friends would be the victims. Or he could go along with his plan and he would be the victim- the only victim, and the case would be solved.

As much as it tore him apart to force his companions into reliving the memories they had once experienced as a false, he saw no other choice. He valued their lives over his own.

Sherlock was going to die to save his friends.

Clutching onto John's jacket, he forced himself into consciousness, to endure the pain, until the very last second. And it wasn't the sheer pain of the shot which hurt him, no- it was the look of complete shock and devastation on John's face, which was soon to be spread to the other people he cared about most in his life, which made him feel like his heart had finally been broken in two, after so many years of surviving the fractures he himself had caused.

He reminded himself over and over again why he had done this- his friends were safe, the police would be here any minute now. Repeating the results in his head was all he could do.

"NO."

The words echoed in Sherlock's ears as he could feel everything shutting down within him.

"No, no, Sherlock, no, please no. Christ, Sherlock." John, unable to support his friend's weight any longer, fell to his knees with Sherlock across them. He couldn't bare to look at the expression on John's face, but forced himself to.

"It's okay, John, really." The words took a great deal of effort to say between heaving breaths, the pain becoming more numbing by the second as Sherlock felt a tear from his friend fall upon his face.

"No, it's NOT okay!" John yelled, not in anger with Sherlock, but the fact that there was nothing he could do but try and give him hope for something he probably wouldn't be fooled by. "Stay with me, Sherlock, stay with me, you're going to be fine, we can- I can fix this."

They both knew it was a lie. Sherlock managed a sad smile, ignoring the pain in his now broken body- his broken heart. "I'd like to believe that."

"Sherlock, please, you can't- just don't-"

John was sobbing, pleading, even after there was no hope. Sherlock cursed at himself inwardly; did he have to do this? Cause his friends this much pain when they had already been through it once, but this time would be faced with truth? But deep down, he knew: the answer was yes, it was pain to his friends rather than death to them.

With effort, he lifted his hand to John's face, turning it towards his. The pain in his chest seemed less than the pain in his heart as he looked into his friend's eyes, now filled with despair.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry." Teas were now starting to fill Sherlock's eyes, and one spilled over and down his cheek as he continued, voice breaking. "It's not a trick this time."

John hugged Sherlock tightly, at a loss of any more words to say and things to do. All he could do was cry, it seemed, as his friend's life faded.

Using the last of his strength, Sherlock shifted the paper he had been clutching in his fist to between his fingers as he returned John's embrace.

Everything was fading. His strength, the light, his life, the sounds of John's shuddering cries.

One last word, Sherlock willed. One last word, please, let there just be enough.

"Goodbye," he whispered as the last of it left, as the dark overtook him, and John's embrace grew tighter around him for the last time.

Even after Sherlock's arms fell limp around him… John didn't let go.

John had lost track of time. Was it seconds, or hours, or days he had been here, sobbing over Sherlock's shoulder?

He ignored any worries messages that came from his phone over the time he had been here, on the floor, crying.

There had been nothing left to do but cry. John sobbed until there were no more tears to cry, even though it felt he could go on forever.

He sat in silence as Sherlock's body lay before him. Sherlock could have been asleep; he was so peaceful even after all the pain he had been through, even apart from the crimson stain upon his chest.

It soon came to John's notice that in Sherlock's one ungloved hand, there lay limply a small piece of paper with John's name on the front. He hurriedly unfolded it.

"John.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for this. I'm sorry for everything, for everyone, for anything I've done wrong. Please, I hope you'll forgive me.

I won't have time to say this when the time comes, but… I did this for you, for all of my few friends- the killer was after either me or all of you if I said anything to the police. They should be coming soon to arrest him. I wish you'll forgive me for this, too.

I knew I was going to die, but I'd rather me than any of you.

So thank you, John, and everyone else- Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, even people like Anderson and Donovan. I don't know how you put up with me and I doubt your lives will be any more chaotic with me gone, but I guess that's good, for the most part. I know you'll miss me, and the hardest part about this wasn't… going, but watching your reaction and imagining everyone else's, and knowing I'd never see you again.

I don't know what to say but… thank you. Really. For everything you and the few people who stood by me have done.

I'm sorry, I know this is late, but, well…

I love you, John Watson. You're my best friend and I don't know what my life would be without you.

I'm not good with goodbyes, but I hope this was good enough for a high-functioning sociopath like me. I'll miss you all so much.

Thank you.

Sherlock"

Welp. Seeing as the first part was actually my top story (WOW THANKS GUYS SERIOUSLY), I had another idea and actually went through with it. Yeet. I know I said I probably wouldn't post another part, but I had enjoyed watching people suffer, so... enjoy the feels. Also enjoy the chapter that's four times as long as the previous one (it was supposed to be a one shot okay XD).


	3. Chapter 3

John searched desperately for something that would remind him of Sherlock.

He looked everywhere- finding notes full of Sherlock's deductions in his messy handwriting, John running his fingers over the lettering. Sherlock's various test tubes, covered in his fingerprints. His skull- oh, the skull- John stood with it resting in his palm, thinking to himself: was this what it was like to be so alone? To have no one?

Until, finally, he slowly opened the door to Sherlock's bedroom. His bedroom, where sheets were thrown about the bed and various books lay open next to an unfinished glass of water on the nightstand, just as if they were waiting for Sherlock to come back in a matter of minutes and pick up where he left off the day before.

But he wasn't coming back.

John opened the closet, seeking comfort at these late hours of the night when he could no longer wander downstairs and find Sherlock, wearing his large safety goggles that made him look exceptionally nerdy, busily working and experimenting in the kitchen. He would be sprawled on the couch, hands pressed together under his chin, deep in thought. Or rarely, collapsed in his favourite armchair, fast asleep, and John would sit down in his own chair across from him and pick up another one of Sherlock's complicated scientific textbooks. Seeking something that would give his brain the impression, just for tonight, that Sherlock wasn't gone, that he was right beside John to comfort him as he always had been. He pulled out one of Sherlock's many dressing gowns, and found another familiar blue scarf as all the tears returned, and inhaled their familiar, somehow calming scent. He collapsed into Sherlock's bed, finding some solace in laying where he knew Sherlock had once been. John tried desperately to remember what it felt like to sit close to him, to feel him there next to him, trying to imprint his smell, the sound of his voice, the feel of being under his clear, calculating, icy, blue gaze into his memory forever. Trying and trying to remember, until eventually he must have fallen asleep, face buried in Sherlock's scarf, attempting to give himself the illusion that he would wake up and find Sherlock sitting on the bed, right beside him.

 **A/N: This was originally written as something to go along with the Reichenbach fall, but seeing as this story was my most successful I figured I might as well add it, as it sort of works either way. Once again, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed, favourited, followed, viewed- seriously, I am so honoured that people actually read my stuff...**


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